


Ropes

by KorrohShipper



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Author regrets nothing, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Evil!Peggy, F/M, Multiverse, No Beta, Steggy - Freeform, We Die Like Men, author regrets everything, dimension hopping, ropes, time travelling, wrote this instead of sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22244212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KorrohShipper/pseuds/KorrohShipper
Summary: “If you want me,” he panted, “come and get me.”Peggy paused, for a moment, before languidly holding her chin up high, looking all dignified and graceless as if she wasn’t tied to the ground. “Want you in which way, darling? Don’t get me wrong,” she eyed the rope he threw in her direction, “both involves rope, but it’s an important distinction to make before we proceed.”
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Kudos: 30





	Ropes

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #1335 - "Ropes"

Steve opened his eyes and froze. He spun around before muttering, out loud, “Shit!”

When Steve Rogers opened his eyes and saw, not Camp Lehigh in 1970 along with Tony materializing from the quantum realm beside him, it was the moment he knew that he had royally fucked up.

That and the fact the butt of a gun was slammed right unto the square of his forehead and his eyes rolled to the back of his head as his knees bucked up and gave in, planting themselves square on the ground.

He didn’t make out where he was exactly, it was a short second of fluidity from recovering from the quantum realm when he made out the distinct lack of military installments when the pain hit him right in his head.

In fact, there was only one thing that truly registered in his mind:

“ _Ouch_.”

* * *

Coming to his senses wasn’t unlike the time he woke up from his sleep.

His skin was terribly soft, like _a-baby’s-bottom_ soft and he smelled like soap, the distinct and clean musk of that military issued, mass manufactured bar that Dugan refused to acknowledge even when shoved right to his face. A small tingling feeling rang from his forehead and he realized that was where he was clubbed to unconsciousness from before.

But those weren’t the tell-tale signs that something was inherently, inconceivably wrong. What gave it away was that he was on a very soft bed.

After being subjected to a whole lot of unexplainable things—a cosmic cube from mythology creating man-vaporizing weapons, the same cosmic cube powering buildings, again the same cosmic cube being fought over by aliens, the cosmic cube being a case, an alien who used the stone inside the cosmic cube to destroy half of life in the universe, those kind of things—Steve prided himself by being a man rarely shocked or surprised.

And yet he found himself, surprised, when he woke up on a very plush, sink in the linens bed and his wrists resting on a neatly piled rope.

“Oh, good. You’re awake. Took you long enough.”

The drawl of her vowels were enough to repel any ounce of sleep left within him. Steve sat up and found, by a wine red leather sofa chair was the unmistakable familiar face of one Peggy Carter.

Only she didn’t have the silver hair or the lines that age brought her. Nor was she connected to a few wires and IV bags. There she sat, cross-legged, puffing on a cigarette holder like she was in a mover waiting for Humphrey Bogart to bust through the doors.

“Peggy?” he breathed out, head still pounding. “What’s happening?” a mantra played over in his head, wishing himself awake—truly awake, where he’s going to sit up and realize his younger self from 2012 had beat him to a pulp and Lang found him.

_She’s not real. You carried her casket. You were a pallbearer at her funeral. She’s not real._

His fervent, ever-repeating mental mantra was broken when the sound of metal creaks sounded. Peggy smirked even wider and a twinkle in her eyes appeared and his heart hurt because it looked so much like her.

The door cracked open, only Humphrey Bogart didn’t appear—it was Johann Schmidt.

“Red Skull.” He said through gritted teeth. He tried to get off the bed until he realized he was cold. Steve looked down and he was shirtless, the bottom of his body covered by the comforter generously placing over him.

“I wouldn’t get out of bed if I were you.” Peggy tutted. “Unless you want your privates displayed, I'd suggest you stay put.” Then, she licked her lips suggestively, eyeing his midsection appreciatively. “Or actually, go ahead, I’m not complaining.”

Steve’s cheeks flared and gripped the comforter, pooling it towards his stomach.

A low chuckle erupted from the room and Steve was jarred back to reality. “Why are you here?” he glared at Red Skull. “Your mask. . .it burned in that fire in Azzano.”

Red Skull gave an amused quizzical look. “Just the mask, Captain Rogers?”

Peggy gave an annoyed sound. “Oh, don’t be a tease—you’re not supposed to be here.” There was a snarl in her voice that screamed to him, even him, that she hated Red Skull's guts. 

Steve nearly growled as his fingers tried to reach for something he can throw. “Neither are you,” he said pointedly at Red Skull before a tremble in his stomach, a sad and painful tell, that reminded him that Peggy wasn’t supposed to be there either.

Until—

“What are you doing with Schmidt, Peggy?”

Peggy rolled her eyes. “Hit your head?” Steve had half a mind to rub the pain away.

“I was.”

“Silly. I was talking about your memory. Don’t you remember, darling?” she purred, and Steve wondered what the hell kind of drug he was forced to take to conjure this image of Peggy, dressed to the nines in a victory red dress, looking like she was ready to wreak an unholy havoc on whoever stood in her way.

Or take to bed whatever stood in her way, whichever suited her most. 

Steve let his eyes switch between Peggy and Schmidt, a haunting realization dawning on him. “You’re working for him?” he muttered out, half in disbelief and half in horror.

Peggy’s nose curled up in distaste. “For him, my darling?” even in her tone, the suggestion sounded ludicrous. Steve was desperately hoping that she would turn on Schmidt, pulling with her the trusty pistol and aim the gun right in between his eyes.

Alas, she did nothing of the kind, instead, she held her head up high. “I don’t work for anyone, darling.” And there it was, pinned on her chest was the Hydra pin. “I work with him, unfortunately.”

What look of distaste and horror he must have had must have been wearing on long enough for Peggy to roll her eyes and wave her hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You worked with him, too.”

Schmidt rolled his eyes and pointed at the stack of neatly, folded SS uniform. “You’re late, Captain. The troops are expected any minute to arrive and you’re yet to strike fear into that foolish USSR.” He spat before exiting the room, leaving a thud in his wake. There was a look on Peggy's face that he couldn't quite decipher—was it irritation, disappointment, indifference?

Thankfully, his watch was still on his wrist and he flipped through the device, his heart nearly coming to a full stop when he spotted the timestream he was currently on. “This isn’t right.” He shook his head. He was lost, lost in space and time, in a different strand of the quantum reality and he had no idea how got there, let alone how he'd get back. 

Peggy tutted her finger before mocking a thoughtful look. “You’re naked in bed and your wife is all dolled up for your return? I don’t see anything wrong with it.”

“Wife? What wife—wait, _what_?”

There it was, in an opportune gleam of light that hit her at the exact moment, it bounced off her left hand, a clear band of gold that crowned her finger. “We’re married.” He breathed out.

Peggy rolled her eyes, adding a sway to her hips as she sashayed her way towards the bed. “Would it be so dreadful to be married to me?” she teased before pulling a knife and throwing it at him. It lodged painfully, exactly where his head was supposed to be had he not moved an inch to the right. “But then again, you’re not my husband, now are you?”

“This is a mistake.”

Steve rushed to get out of bed, silently and mentally cursing his traitorous cheeks for flaring up as he jumped through the cushions and made his way towards a couch where his nanosuit was strewn across, stark naked and panting, all while dodging bullets.

His eyes caught a shining glass— _was that an extra vial of Pym Particles?_

With military precision and efficiency, he upturned the furniture and made for decent cover.

“Oh, why are you hiding?” she sing-songed. “Don’t you know that I’ve seen it all before?” another hail of bullets rang. "You're quite smaller."

Steve spotted, in his vision, an adjoining hall with doors at the end of it. He quickly shimmied into his clothes, the nanotech suit fitting him like a glove as he tapped on his watch. He typed in the coordinates and time, hoping and praying that wherever, whenever it was he landed, it would be the right time stream.

But that was only if he managed to get out of the room alive, and judging from the looks Not-Peggy was giving him, escaping seemed like it was closer to an impossibility.

“Let me go.” He said with a leveled voice. “I need to go.”

“And suck all the fun out of this? Don’t be such a killjoy, Kilroy.”

It was almost like a reflex, something that he didn’t realize that he’d done, “What, no sugar?” he remembered all the times he'd joke around with Peggy back in the war and he realized, even when he's in front of her evil clone, he couldn't but feel a familiarity to her, a sense of safety even if she's out to kill him. 

Peggy scoffed. “ _Bloody Nora_ , you even have the same demented humor as he did.” Then, in a split-second, longing fondness and love. Like the ones he'd often see in the glass reflection of his compass when he'd find himself staring at her picture, when he's overwhelmed with the feeling and knowledge of what he's lost. 

Steve was ready to get up and run, wrapping his fingers around an ornamental bronze plate on top of the cabinet when the word rang in his ear. “ _Did_?”

There was a moment of silence before the bullets made a furious return. “Do you honestly think I can’t recognize my own husband?” the sound of metal weights fell to the ground as Peggy reloaded. “I know you’re not him, at least not this reality’s version of him, anyways. You never will be him.”

Steve’s eyes widened and he, despite better judgement, popped his head over the small cover afforded by the couch. “You know about multiple universes?”

“Why do you think Schmidt’s acting like something crawled up his arse and died?” she sneered, but it almost sounded fond. “You’re delaying his grand attempts to conquer the multiverse. It appears a planet isn’t enough.”

Steve’s stomach plummeted. A Hydra-controlled planet.

“But his attempts to claim a Hydra universe hadn’t pan out the way he imagined it. But _you_ —you with your dimension hopping abilities, well, Johann would just love to have his grubby paws all over you and your fancy technology and that vial he's reverse-engineered but doesn't have a clue as to how he should use it. Or where and who to land his grubby paws." Peggy made a sour face. "Well, unfortunately for him, _I_ don’t share.”

Steve nearly groaned in relief when he saw his shield, the blue paint glimmering by the cabinets. The idea clicked. He was dead. The version of him, there in that twisted and demented universe where Hydra won, the husband of Peggy Carter was dead. And he's a dead ringer. A surge of annoyance flooded him. “What? You’re not faithful in mourning a national treasure?”

“You’re not nearly as clever as you think you sound, you know.” Steve tried to move out of his cover, but a bullet just whizzed by the couch and he hissed.

An idea popped up in his head and it was stupid and reckless and it was exactly the type of unnecessary danger his Peggy would berate him for and lecture him until he wished the ground opened up a hole and swallowed him whole before pulling up a chair beside him and give him a better way to do it.

Only the Peggy with him wasn’t exactly the type to give constructive criticism.

Steve lunged for the cabinet as fast as he could and pressed on his watch, allowing the shield to vibrate towards his wrist snugly before he threw it across the room, the shield bouncing off the walls enough to distract Peggy and for him to grab the robes on the bed and tackle Peggy to the ground.

It felt wrong, tying up Peggy. But if she was truly working with Schmidt for Hydra, then the last thing he needs is a platoon of goons trailing behind him as they try to capture him.

Once thoroughly tied to the ground, he turned Peggy and let her rest on her back. “Let me go!” she yelled, struggling and squirming to get out of the ropes.

“No can do.”

He walked towards the other end of the room where his shield has since then settled and picked it up, panting as he typed the coordinates again on his watch.

“Come back here!” she yelled, but Steve only shook his head, ridding his arm of the pile of rope that circled around him.

“If you want me,” he panted, “come and get me.”

Peggy paused, for a moment, before languidly holding her chin up high, looking all dignified and graceless as if she wasn’t tied to the ground. “Want you in which way, darling? Don’t get me wrong,” she eyed the rope he threw in her direction, “both involves rope, but it’s an important distinction to make before we proceed.”

It was snarky, husky, and teasing all rolled in one and Steve almost hated himself for blushing. He wondered what it was like for his doppleganger. Evil, completely different than who he was, but he saw the same kindred loss, no matter how perverted and adulterated and twisted, in her eyes. Steve wondered what it was like for the Steve Rogers of this reality before he died. 

But those thoughts had to wait for another time, maybe not ever again. 

The coordinates were already typed in. Peggy gave a much more vulnerable look. One that wasn't there when Schmidt was there and her face fell. She knew, what it meant, his time GPS. She knew what would happen. "Please," she grasped out.

Steve panted, pausing. 'What?"

"He doesn't know." Peggy breathed out. "Schmidt doesn't know you're here." And he was confused, because he was just here, looking like he had thrown a wrench in his grand plans. "He doesn't know you're dead, well, he will in a few moments, but not now. All he knows is that a dimension hopper was found."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Peggy's eyes begged with him. "Just, go out the door," he stepped towards his right but she shouted out, quickly, "Not that one. Go to your other right. You'll see a door there. Just. . ." and there it was, the Peggy he remembered. It came crashing back to him, that moment with the radio comms, their last conversation.

"What?"

"Just say hello, please?" she struggled against the ropes before slumping down. "For me? For your Peggy?"

He knew he shouldn't. Chances are it was a booby-trapped room filled with about a thousand guns aimed at his head ready to go off at any second with just the move of his muscle. But it wasn't. He exited the room against his better judgement and found the door Peggy talked about. It wasn't heavy with metal, in fact, it stood out from the rest.

It was wooden.

He pushed across the door and was immediately bombarded. "Papa!" and there it was, a kid, barely four years old, eyes bright with the sight of him. "Up! Up!" the child said, hands held in the air, beaming at him. "Play!"

He understood. Steve smiled tightly, crossing the room, pressing a chaste, somewhat indifferent but lingering kiss on the tuft of hair on the boy's head. "Not now, bud. Later, yeah?" and he jammed his palm unto the screen of the watch and a brilliant white light enveloped the room. 

* * *

Steve returned to his world where Peggy Carter is gone. Where Steve Rogers didn't die and where Johann Schmidt wasn't about to attempt to conquer the multiverse ala-John Smith in The Man in the High Castle. 

Tony was already beside him when he materialized. Steve glanced at his watch with a desperation he hadn’t felt before and doubled over when he saw the familiar, correct timestream.

Tony didn’t pay attention, though, his eyes gleaming with the same wise-ass, sardonic wit. “Clearly, you weren’t born here, right?”

Steve panted out and shook his head, walking beside Tony. “The idea of me was.”


End file.
